Participation Award

I know that as a parent, we don’t get participation awards. We show up because it means a lot to our kids that we support them.

I am stupidly proud of myself for never missing a performance or a meet or a concert, even while going through chemo and radiation.

I mean, what if I’d died? Talk about not being able to be there. I wanted to be there as much as I could because my future wasn’t (isn’t) a given. So yes, I attended everything.

My daughter puts all the effort into these things. The very least I can do is show up at performances/meets/concerts.

She was recently inducted in the National Honor Society.

This is a pretty awesome achievement.

There was a dinner the night of the induction ceremony.

A week before the dinner I said something about taking Olivia to my mom’s the evening of the dinner so that Tom and I could attend the dinner.

He said something along the lines of, “Oh, am I going to the dinner?”

Duh.

I just looked at him.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink, blink, blink.

Finally, I said, “Of course you’re going. She’s probably your only child to get this distinction.”

He shrugged and went about his day.

I mean.

I’m not saying anything negative about Alyssa’s older (or younger) siblings. But obviously the older three weren’t in NHS. That ship sailed over 10 years ago for all three of them. And Livie…well, let’s just say she’s not a joiner and will have no interest or desire in doing what it takes to be part of National Honor Society. And that’s okay. It’s okay for all of Alyssa’s siblings.

But she IS a joiner. She loves competing and performing and serving others and we’re going to that dinner!

This reminds me of the final performance of the musical the high school put on recently. One of the girls in Alyssa’s class was an ‘ancestor’ like Lyss and Tessa. She’d put in the work, showed up for practices, learned the songs and the dances.

I was backstage with the cast during intermission, just making sure anyone who needed anything, you know, a makeup touch-up, hair reteased, a safety pin, etc. I was there to serve. It’s what I do. I don’t even want credit for it.

No. Seriously. I mean, sure, a Thank You is lovely but I like doing this kind of thing and I have fun doing it so whatever.

Anyway, this girl was heading back to the stage and as I passed her, she said sadly, “My mom is leaving.”

I asked her why.

“Her butt is numb.”

.

.

.

Her. Butt. Was. Numb.

She was leaving during intermission, before the second act because her butt was numb. Her daughter had put in MONTHS of work for this play. I don’t give a shit if her daughter was working the lights, she should have been there for the whole thing. Damn it, she should have been there every single night her daughter was on that stage, not just one night for HALF the performance.

I know parents don’t get participation awards. But you know what? We do get participation points from our kids. They know when we’re there and when we’re not. They see us in the stands, backstage, on the field, in the audience. They KNOW and it matters to them.

This girl put on a brave face but I know she was hurt that her mother couldn’t bring herself to sit in those chairs for one more hour.

I know it sounds like I’m mom-shaming but you know what? No, I’m PARENT-SHAMING. It’s not just moms. Dads need to show up too. Kids need to know they’re supported. They WANT their parents to see them, to appreciate them, to know how hard they work and applaud their efforts.

So we went to that dinner, BOTH of us, because it meant a lot to Alyssa that we were there. We go to the track meets. We go to the plays. We go on field trips.

We show up, not for participation awards but for our kids, who are here because WE chose to have them. They were not left on our porches for us to raise without our consent. The least we can do is continue to be there even when they’re teenage pains in the ass. It’s a part of growing up, growing away from us. They have to do it but we don’t have to push them away as they pull away. They deserve better; let’s be better.